Against the Tide
by IndigoWinter
Summary: Another day in Kirkwall. Another day in the world of a video game. Will I survive? Will I conquer my fears? Will I find love? Will I ever stop asking endless rhetorical questions? I don't know, but I sure plan to enjoy myself. SI F!Hawke/Fenris
1. Chapter 1

Against the Tide

Chapter 01: Manipulative by Any Other Name

* * *

The Fereldan refugees were quite the sight.

Most were dirty, starved, and carried nothing but the clothes on their backs. A few, who had probably been wealthy before running scared from their homeland, held small sacks of precious belongings to their chests; or, in some cases, not so precious. A man stepping off one of the larger boats hoarded no less than twenty pounds worth of aged wine slung over his shoulder. He glared venomously at anyone he passed, as if _daring_ them to ask for a gulp. Another refugee, a woman with such a sour look on her face you'd think she'd slept with the mabari the entire voyage over, smuggled in massive amounts of gaudy jewelry she had stuffed into her generous *ahem* bosom (she was mugged not a day after docking).

The Guard did its best to accommodate the earlier arrivals- most were allowed free passage into Kirkwall without issue. But then they _kept _arriving. Hundreds docked week after week, and quickly there was simply not enough room for them. Lucky ones bought their way through, but as days passed, bribery became too expensive a solution for most. Ships left as quickly as they arrived. So the refugees were stuck, camping within the Gallows under the chains and harrowing statues. It was a filthy, sickly, hopeless atmosphere. It was almost pitiful, watching new arrivals enter the city with aspirations of a new life, only to be shot down after not a step on dry land.

I watched the entire mess snowball out of control. I had no choice, really. Seven goddamn years had gone into preparing, to getting where I was, and I couldn't- no, I _wouldn't _mess it up now. And if that meant waiting three months in the Gallows, I would.

Because I couldn't afford to miss _their_ arrival.

* * *

"Another day without word. What will happen to us? There's no food, no water-"

"I'm hungry, papa. When can we go back home?"

"I can't take much more of this. Why won't they let us in?"

"If they would just let me into the city, I could-"

After a while, the complaints blended together. They transformed into a sort of hum that riddled the air. It was almost maddening. I swear I had to stop myself from bashing my head against the walls at one point- though the blood would have added some much needed color to the place.

Days passed, in and out, and I waited. The Guard, for the most part, paid me no mind as I stalked the docks. I'm sure I bothered some of them- a stranger in a hooded cloak that stood still by the water every day must have raised a few eyebrows. But I wasn't causing any trouble, so they begrudgingly let me be. The occasional attempted riot kept them busy. There's nothing like potential chaos to keep authority occupied. Especially homeless, mud-riddled, dog-smelling chaos.

The air was depressing, to say the least. Makeshift tents littered the area; people begged or sat emptily, their hollow eyes hungrily following anyone who looked well off enough to buy bread. It was cold enough to make them shiver at night, but warm enough to make them sweat during the day. In short, it was miserable. And misery brought desperation. I had to break a few fingers to keep the pickpockets off me- and for once, I was happy about my five years in Antiva. Compared to the thieves there, these people were little more than kids trying to make it at the grown-ups table, holding their silverware backwards with their elbows on the fine china.

The thought of the assassin riddled nation left a bad taste in my mouth, so I pushed the memories away. The past was past, and I had to stay focused on the present. The present and the future- the future I hoped to change. The future I had spent the past seven years yearning to see, to live, and to _witness_. Because I knew what was going to happen before it happened. I had known ever since I found myself in the world of Thedas all those years ago. Because I wasn't from this world, no matter how much of a home it had come to be.

But the thought of my past life (because that's all it was: _the past_) also made my mouth go dry. I'd already spent the proper time mourning it, and any thought of its modern marvels only served to make my heart sink. The tears had already been shed. The yearning for it already spent- and I had bigger fish to fry.

I had goals, ones I'd spent countless hours planning out. I had things I _was_ goingto change. The past years; the disgusting things I had done, the training, the life I had led- I had bared through it all with these goals in mind, knowing I had to be strong enough to face them.

_Accompany Hawke During His/Her Rise to Power_

_Prevent the Chantry Explosion, or_

_Save the Grand Cleric's Life_

_Save the Life of Leandra Hawke_

_Prevent the Death of Saemus Dumar _

_Save as Many People as Possible During the Qunari Invasion_

_Keep that Damn Lyrium Idol out of Meredith's Hands _

_Prevent Bethany/Carver from Joining the Wardens/Circle/Templars_

…not necessarily in that order; and other miscellaneous things if the need arose. My basis, of course, relied on Hawke being an absolute paragon to the point I wouldn't have to meddle in the affairs of his/her companions. Those goals, along with everything I knew, everything I remembered, were scribbled down and tucked away safely in the leather-bound book holstered to my hip.

With a sigh, I stared out at the water, and caught sight of an incoming ship. My heart beat a little faster, as it always did, and I took position to watch its passengers unload.

* * *

I had thought about joining the Warden.

I had considered it- very carefully, in fact. But my mind kept hitting this one road block:

_The Warden got messed up in some serious shit. _

That was not to say that Hawke didn't have his/her fair share of nightmare-inducing misadventures, but they didn't involve cross country travels, underground tentacle monstrosities, werewolves, an army of undead, killing _Flemeth _(sort of), talking darkspawn, and, well, being dogged as betrayers and King-killers the entire adventure. Also, if I _had_ decided to "accidently" bump into the Warden, I would have been too well-known afterward to run with Hawke. Oh, and the idea of being potentially tainted after every fight did weigh on the mind.

So I didn't.

* * *

When I saw them arrive, after waiting for so long, I wasn't sure what I had been expecting. Over the years, I may have built up an image of the Champion Kirkwall in my head that no one, not even Hawke herself, could have lived up to.

Because the small quintuplet I watched step off the arriving ship was dirty, disheveled, and rather hopeless looking. If I hadn't been expecting them, they would have passed me by, blending seamlessly with all the other filthy Fereldans. Nevertheless, my heart somehow managed to flutter at the sight of them:

Hawke was pretty. She walked with a sort of skip in her step that set her apart from others. Her hair was dark, short, and she sported these marvelous, piercing blue eyes that flicked over the heads of everyone around her. She was also a mage, if the existence of Carver by her side was anything to go by. He was slimmer than I remembered, though a two-week haul over seas did tend to shave a few pounds off a person. His hair was also dark, but he lacked the blue eyes- a shame. The sight of Leandra made my stomach clench- I couldn't look at her too long without seeing the _thing_ she would be mutilated into.

And then there was Aveline. I didn't know what to feel about the ginger haired woman. She was tall and retained quiet a bit of muscle despite the voyage- and walked so straight with her head held so high that you'd think something was stuck up there. She gave off an air of confidence, but it was different than the one that radiated from Hawke. The mage's was playful, mischievous- Aveline's was strict and honest. I smirked. I was dealing with a snarky mage Hawke. Perfect.

In retrospect, I was being creepy- watching them like I was. Creepiness not lessoned by the fact that I swept after them as they moved through the crowds. Hawke demanded to speak with someone in charge, and was directed to Captain Ewald, a man who I knew frustratingly little about. I had no idea how he came to loose his position as to Jeven, only to be just as swiftly replaced by Aveline. Perhaps Jeven had a roll in Ewald's leave? I could only speculate- something I wasn't fond of. When you knew as much as I did, being out of any loop tended to grate the nerves.

The shouts of the Fereldan deserters could be heard the instant I stalked the four into the open courtyard. Ah. So they were _those _deserters. There were so many that filtered into Kirkwall that it was hard to tell; this particular bunch had been barking up a storm for roughly three days. Tensions were threatening to boil over, and Hawke was going to tip over that particular pot. A habit in the making, as it were. I tried not to smile.

They were all crowded around Ewald, who seemed quite calm for a man surrounded by half a dozen armed and pissed military men. Either that or he had one hell of a poker face- or, actually, considering what happened in Kirkwall on any given day, this sort of thing _shouldn't_ have phased the guy. Or maybe the crazy didn't start flowing until Hawke came by and poked it with a long stick.

As tones began to escalate, I took a deep breath, and counted to ten. _Here goes nothing._

* * *

If Marian Hawke hadn't known better, she'd say the world was against her. First the Blight, then…_Bethany_, and now she was stuck, very annoyed, in the middle of some Templar infested hunting ground of a city. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of living in some fancy estate once they got in; and taking a very long and very _warm_ shower. Then sleeping in bed. With pillows. Fluffy ones with lace made from the sweat and tears of some overworked seamstress in Orlais.

"What? You're going to let them through?"

"I didn't say anything about-"

"That's it! We've carving our way into this city whether-"

If the apostate had blinked she would have missed it. In a flash of metal, a blade struck the leader of the deserters' head. He collapsed before he could even reach for his long sword. Silence followed as his lackeys guffawed, nearly tripping over their own jaws.

"Let's nip this in the bud before it gets messy, eh?"

A tone, light and aloof wafted through the air. A cloaked woman swayed toward them, her hood drawn up to cover her face. With bored flare, she stepped on the man's back and yanked the dagger from his skull, whipping blood across the stone. On closer inspection, it was a marvelous blade, made from silverite, but the woman tucked it away on her leg holster before Marian could get a better look.

The woman eyed the remaining deserters. Her accent was strange; Marian couldn't place it. "If you keep your mouths open any longer you might just catch some flies."

They continued to gape, all except the second in command, who snapped his jaw shut and scowled. "We'll find our own way into the city. You aren't even worth our time."

And they left, his gang on his heels, not looking too happy with the decision. The Captain chuckled. "Well, at least they're out of my hair."

"For the moment." Aveline spoke up. "Problems like that don't just go away."

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine." The newcomer drawled. "With any luck, they'll wise up and catch a ship out of here- maybe he was the brains of the little organization. Even if they're miniscule, they're better than nothing, I suppose."

Aveline scowled. Marian hummed happily, glad to have the Captian's attention once again. "Good to see that problem took care of itself. Now, about our uncle…"

The Captain frowned, and the stranger made a soft chocking noise. "Gamlen, right? Look, I don't have the time to fetch him personally. But seeing as your friend here just got rid of those thugs, I can look into sending a guard to get him. Alright? It's the best I can manage."

"Better than nothing." Carver shrugged.

"Right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to have a word with my Lieutenant." The Captain left, back toward the docks to no doubt complain about why the deserts hadn't been dealt with sooner.

The newcomer spoke up again. "Sorry, did you say Gamlen?"

"Gamlen Amell. Uncle dearest is a noblemen in the city." Marian said. "Hopefully, he can get us in."

"Well," the woman said uneasily. "I may be wrong, but there's only one Gamlen Amell in all of Kirkwall, and he doesn't have two sovereigns to rub together. And if he ever did, he'd either spend it all at the Blooming Rose or lose it to a peg-legged tavern wench in a game of diamondback." She laughed, and then stopped. "Uh. Sorry. No offence."

"That can't be right." Marian looked over at her mother, who looked very confused. "Father must have left him something."

"Like I said, I could be wrong. Maybe the guy has an evil twin. Just thought I'd say something." She shrugged. "I didn't catch your names."

"No, you didn't." Carver snapped, and Marian rolled her eyes. "What? We have no clue who she is either."

"Of course. Where are my manners?" She mock bowed. "The name's Adrian. Former…_treasure_ hunter."

"Treasure hunter?" Marian smirked.

"Sounds like a fancy name for a thief." Aveline crossed her arms with a snarl. "Or a pirate."

The newly dubbed Adrian visibly twitched. "I didn't know you were so choosey about your company, oh high and mighty disheveled refugees. Perhaps I'll be on my way."

"Perhaps you should."

"Now, now," Marian held her hands up, a gesture of peace. "We can play nice. I'm Marian Hawke. This is my brother, Carver, and my mother. The scowly disapproving woman is Aveline."

"A pleasure." Adrian shook her hand. "Hold on,"

The thief pulled her hood down to reveal the face of woman in her early twenties. Her hair was light and frayed, braided tightly and draped over her shoulder. Her eyes were dark, complementing her tan skin. The biggest flaw of her features was no doubt the large, jagged scar that ran down her cheek and across her lips. Marian guessed she must have picked the wrong pocket somewhere along the way. Adrian blew a lingering strand of straw-colored hair from her face and smirked.

"Now I can see you, and you can see me." She grinned. "I take it you all want in the city like everyone else? The best of luck to you. I hope you have plenty of coin to grease the necessary palms- the cheapest rate I know of is two dozen sovereigns a head."

"That much?" Leandra gasped. "Even with the estate…"

Marian watched the thief withdraw something from under her cloak- a small coin purse. She tossed it to her. "Here. It's not enough to get you in, but at least you won't starve while you wait."

"Do you normally throw money at random strangers?" Marian asked.

Adrian shrugged. "Call it: my good deed for the day. Or week. Or, hell, probably the year."

"Should we accept it? It's probably stolen." Aveline said.

"All money has been stolen at some point." Adrian shrugged. "And hey, if you do make it in the city, you can keep an eye out for me. Maybe return the favor?"

"So now we're indebted. _Great_." Carver groaned.

Adrian pulled he hood up. "Look. Spend it. Toss it. Hell, melt it down and make some nice silverware. I have an appointment to get to- in the city."

"Then what were you doing out here?" Aveline pressed.

"I enjoy the depressing scenery." She turned her back and began to walk off. "Look me up once you're in."

* * *

It was only when I graced Hightown that I managed to relax. Things had gone surprisingly smoothly.

The entire purpose of the "coincidental" meeting was to establish a tie with Hawke. The money was a simple token to bolster trust and form bridges in the making. She now knew who I was and that I had "taken pity" on "complete strangers" out of the "kindness of my heart." And she owed me a favor; one I had plans to cash in when the time was right.

All in all, a success. Now I had a year to burn.

* * *

**(A/N): **There. First chapter outta the way. And, in case you didn't notice, this is an SI fic. As in, chick from our world falls into a video game.

I have a plan with this story. There will be occasional flashbacks to explain just what my SI had been doing in the seven years before DA2, how she became a thief, and what connections she has formed; these connections will form her "companion quests." So, I implore you to give it a chance. The year between canon events in Kirkwall won't take more than a chapter, so don't worry.

I want to write a romance as well. Who would you like to see paired up with my SI? Not Fenris, of course, he's Hawke's in this fic. Feel free to hold off on suggestions until more chapters come out, though.

Also, please review if you can. I'd appreciate feedback.

No. Seriously. The button is right there.


	2. Chapter 2

Against the Tide

Chapter 02: Less of an Ass When You're Drunk

* * *

While I spent most of my time in Hightown (when you impulsively pick pockets, its best to be around people with more than lint in their purses) I had a room in the Hanged Man. It was a matter of convenience more than anything. People didn't ask questions, the board was cheap, and the booze even cheaper. Of course, I won't say a certain hairy dwarf wasn't apart of the reason I slept in the cesspool; not that I had the gall to approach him. Not until he made friends with Hawke, at least.

Funny. When I first...arrived, I didn't have trouble adjusting to the dwarfs or elves. Really, the elves were just slimmer, pointer-eared versions of humans, and the dwarfs were likely to hit you if you started too long. It was more or less the physics-defying magic, commonplace thuggery and overall lack of personal hygiene that took the longest to get used to. You could ignore the dwarfs in the room, but not so much the half dozen sailors who hadn't seen a bar of soap in three months.

My point being, I hadn't expected Hawke to find me in Hightown. Heck, I hadn't expected Hawke to find me as quickly as she did, period. Not two weeks after our little introductions did I spot her and her brother near the Blooming Rose, asking about moi.

Not that I spent time at the Blooming Rose.

I never set foot in the place. And I most certainly _did not_ have a thing for one of the blonde elven whores.

The one with the Antivan accent.

The one with those gorgeous eyes who could do marvelous things with his-

Erm. Yeah. I never went there. Moving right along.

I had been out cutting a deal for new leathers and a blend of elfroot extract when I spotted them. I was in the stuffiest, most noble looking clothes I had, which incidentally meant a dress. When your objective was to steal from the richest, you needed to blend in with the richest. Not that that stopped me from carrying my book and strapping a dagger to my thigh and stashing another in my boot. Both paranoia's doing- living in Antiva and Rivan did that to a person.

Both the Hawke siblings were decked out in smugglers wares; Carver had a rather shabby looking longsword strapped to his back, the hostler frayed and very second-hand looking, and Marian a very basic wooden staff. It could have passed for an old walking stick. Weirdly enough, Templars can't convict a person solely on visual evidence- not even Kirkwall Templars (yet, at least)- that's how some mages got away with wearing silk skirts and carrying staves in public.

I'll admit I hesitated. I hadn't planned to meet them so quickly- and planning was the only thing I had on my side. I liked having things laid out, in neat little piles, ready to be dealt with when I saw fit. Getting closer to Hawke and company was not something I was prepared to tackle.

It was a risk. I hated risks.

But the decision was ultimately taken out of my hands when _they_ spotted _me_.

"Well, if isn't just kindly stranger I was looking for," Marian said with her weird smirk, walking toward me with that same skip in her step. "Fancy the brothel often, or so I hear."

Seven years ago, I would have blushed. Now I just stuck my foot in my mouth when I was nervous. "And if isn't the destitute twins I was hoping to avoid. Fancy the smuggling business? I had heard Athenril was getting a little desperate."

"How do you know about that?" Carver asked, sounding anything but friendly. Ah, I could tell this was going to be fun already.

I shrugged. "I listened to the wind."

"Knowledgeable wind." Marian snorted, but didn't look the slightest upset by my comment.

"Well, that and your fellow business associates who frequent the Hanged Man. The very same that can't hold their liquor _or_ keep their mouths shut about Athenril getting an indebted mage in her clutches."

It was stupidly hasty gamble, and predictably, both the Hawke siblings tensed. Carver far more noticeably. Hawke subtly moved to place herself between Carver and I. It was almost sweet seeing that kind of sibling protectiveness before my eyes- or it would have been, if I hadn't been the one to spur it. I sincerely hoped this gamble did not come back to bite me in the ass like so many other things.

"I don't know what you mean." Hawke said calmly, her weird smirk gone. Her eyes flickered over to the nearest guard, who was more than out of earshot.

"Of course," I continued, literally forming a plan in my head as I went. "I was just on my back to get a drink anyway. I don't suppose you'd be willing to continue this conversation there?"

"It would be our pleasure."

"Splendid. I have a room. We can chat there."

* * *

"Nora? My friends and I are going to need some privacy- could you make sure we're undisturbed?"

"No blood on the floors, Adrian. I just cleaned them."

The pickpocket laughed. "Not that kind of privacy- and you and I both know the last time you cleaned my floors was well before I inhabited the room."

Marian had to force a chuckle- something she usually had no difficulty doing. But at the moment, even she was having a hard time keeping up a decent poker face. The Hanged Man was fairly empty during the middle of the day; barely a dozen people were around. That was good. Less people to overhear and or get caught in the crossfire of what was about to come.

The refugee followed closely behind their suspicious guide. Adrian knew she was a mage, but Marian couldn't discern what the thief's angle was. What was she after? Extortion, maybe? Was the "charity" a few weeks ago just to lure them into a false sense of security, then pounce with this charade? Carver was about to burst- Marian could tell he was dying to either end this little game of follow the leader or get the hell out of dodge.

"Right up here," Adrian led them up some steps and to a door third down the hall. "Excuse the mess. A girl only has so much time one her hands."

"How do we know this isn't some kind of trap?" Carver asked, finally speaking up.

A ghost of smile flickered across her features. "If I had wanted to lead you into a trap, I would have asked you to meet me in Lowtown at night, and hired a dozen Red Irons to take you out before anyone was the wiser- just for future reference. Instead, I'm inviting you into my home to have a chat. A _nonviolent_ chat among _friends_."

"We _are not_ your friends." Carver snarled back.

Adrian shrugged. "Not yet," and opened the door.

The first thing Marian noticed was the lack of bare surfaces. The bed, the tables, the chairs, the shelves- were all covered in stacks of books and papers. Funny. Marian hadn't pegged the pickpocket as the reading type. Adrian cleared off most of two chairs and offered them before sitting on the bed. Carver stubbornly refused to sit, but Marian decided to give a little and take the olive branch.

Adrian clasped her hands together. "Alright then. Let's not beat around the bush- I'm sure it wouldn't appreciate the abusive gesture. I know you're a mage."

"I gathered that." Marian said.

"Also, I neither give a damn nor do I have any intention of indulging the information to anyone."

Marian blinked. That…was unexpected. And unceremoniously blunt. "Not that I'm unrelieved to hear that…but what's your stake in keeping it to yourself?"

Adrian looked genuinely confused by the question. "What? Did you- did you think I was planning to blackmail you or something? Is it so strange if I said I'm keeping it to myself out of the goodness of my heart?"

Carver gave her a dry look. "Yes."

The thief shot him a very weary glare. "God, take the stick out your ass. I'm trying _to be nice_. I know its sort of a rare trait in this oppressive shithole of a city, but I am."

Marian held up both her hands and looked between the two, exasperated. "What my bother means to say is, it's difficult to wrap our heads around a complete stranger not only helping a family of refugees without any hope of repayment- but also risking their neck to hide the location of an apostate they hardly know."

"I guess I can understand that," the straw-haired woman sighed. "You want an explanation? I saw you in the Gallows and you looked like good people. Good people are depressingly hard to come by nowadays. I've have a decent track of gauging people, and I went with my instincts. That's it. End of story."

Carver made a low sound from his throat that clearly meant he still wasn't buying it. Marian felt herself relax a little, however. Either Adrian was either a very good actor, or was actually being sincere. Maybe a bit of both- she was clearly keeping something to herself, but who didn't have _a few_ secrets? Marian believed she was telling truth about keeping hers, at least, and that was good enough.

"But if it makes you feel better, let's clear the air."

Adrian got up, dug around in a nearby bag, and withdrew a deck of cards. "Come on, I'll buy you and your abrasive brother a round on the house."

"Oh, I like the sound of that." Marian got up as well and followed her toward the door.

"…I am not abrasive." Carver muttered, and reluctantly followed. He wasn't letting his sister out his sight with the thief just yet. Not that Marian would ever appreciate or notice the gesture.

"How about a game of High or Low?" The pickpocket asked as they sat down and Nora dropped off three mugs of the Hanged Man's…_unique_ brew.

"That's not exactly the most exciting game in the world." Marian confessed, taking a short swig of her mug and cringing.

"Not if we make it more interesting," Adrian began shuffling the cards. "I'll deal, and if you guess correctly, you get to ask me any question you like. Then you deal, then your brother, until we're all either too drunk to see straight or frustrated enough to strangle each other."

"Hmm…" Marian ran her finger along the ring of her mug. "_Any_ question?"

"I reserve the right to outright lie, but yes."

"Then what's the point of it?" Carver asked, already frustrated enough to strangle the woman.

She looked at him. "Well, in your case, I'm hoping you're a lot less of an ass when you're drunk."

Marian, who had been in the middle of another swig, chortled into her mug, spraying ale all over her face. Adrian outright laughed at the sight, and Carver noticed how the scar across her face cutely wrinkled when she smiled- and then instantly repressed the notion that he would ever notice anything positive about the crazy woman.

And a dozen games and four mugs each later, the tentative friendship between the Hawke siblings and the dark-eyed, sticky-fingered thief began to form.

* * *

**(A/N): (This chapter was not beta'd- I'll be editing it every so often for mistakes if I catch them.) Ugggh. Honestly, it _was not_ my intention to take so long getting this out. Short story: my computer got a virus. When I got around to finishing this after that was cleared up, two months had passed. Time makes fools of us all, I suppose. **

**This chapter was meant to be short, sweet, and to the point, as well as establish a few things. Also, two things: One, Carver will not be paired with Adrian- I just like teasing the guy. Two, next chapter will take place a year later. And it will be much longer.**

**But anyway, now that there are two chapters out, what do you guys think? Would you like to read more? Any romance you'd _like_ to see in the future? *brow-wiggle***


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